


Hidden Truths

by Sid



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Don't Ask Don't Tell, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Original Character(s), Outing, POV Original Character, Slash, Surveillance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 08:17:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1772104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sid/pseuds/Sid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daniel has an enemy, and Jack is collateral damage.</p>
<p><b>Written For:</b><span class="ljuser"><a href="http://starglyph.dreamwidth.org/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://starglyph.dreamwidth.org/"><b>starglyph</b></a></span><br/><b>Two (2) Requirements:</b> The homosexual relationship between Colonel O'Neill and Daniel is discovered, which results in some unpleasant consequences. Happy ending, in that their relationship continues. <b>Optional Request:</b> NC-17, please.<br/><b>Notes:</b> Super thanks to<span class="ljuser"></span><a href="http://princessofgeeks.dreamwidth.org/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://princessofgeeks.dreamwidth.org/"></a><b>princessofgeeks</b>, for beta duties and encouragement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hidden Truths

Air Force Lieutenant Stuart McMahon, SG-12, has more than one reason to dislike Doctor Jackson. He doesn’t like stuck-up geniuses, he doesn’t like geeks, and he doesn’t like gays.  _Fag_ , one of his buddies mutters one day when Jackson walks past. McMahon doesn’t approve of that kind of name-calling, because he was raised better than that, but he instantly sees Franklin’s point. He realizes what’s been niggling at him about Jackson all along, and wonders how he’d missed it, the _wrongness_ that he can now see so clearly.

‘Gaydar’ some people call it. To McMahon it’s just a _look_ about some people, more than anything they say or do usually. A look that warns him to stay away, because this person wouldn’t hesitate to drag you right down into the mud with him. Jackson isn’t one of the flamboyant ones, but it’s there to see now that McMahon’s looking for it, no doubt about it.

McMahon’s been taught to know right from wrong, and _that_ sort of person, whether he’d opened up the ‘gate or not, doesn’t belong out there representing planet Earth to its potential allies. And he sure as hellfire doesn’t belong on the lead team. McMahon tries with all his might not to obsess about it, but every time he sees Doctor Jackson around the base he’s reminded, which makes it harder and harder to let go of it. He wants to point at Jackson and shout and make everyone _see_.

But this is exactly the kind of thing McMahon has had to learn to shrug off, because lieutenants don’t get a say in anything important. Ever. That’s just the way things are in the Air Force. A man tries to get past the bad taste in his mouth and ignore the offensiveness of a situation, because he’s got a job to do. 

And then one day Lieutenant McMahon’s job intersects with what he’s been ignoring and he finds his team going through the ‘gate with SG-1.

And he fucking finds himself being fucking lectured by fucking Doctor Jackson because apparently he wasn’t fucking careful enough to suit his High and Mightiness. The fucking tablet doesn’t even have a _scratch_ on it, but he, Doctor _Fucking_ Jackson, throws some kind of a _hissy_ fit and doesn’t back off until Colonel O’Neill shuts him down with a single razor-sharp word.

So McMahon goes away, teeth gritted, when O’Neill dismisses him, devoutly hoping the colonel will tear Jackson a new one, and stays out of Jackson’s fucking way for the rest of their thank-God-short time off-world. 

Only to have it become perfectly clear when they get back to the DHD that O’Neill hadn’t torn Jackson a new one, or anything of the kind. They’re talking together as everyone waits for the wormhole to engage, chummy as anything, and McMahon’s stomach ties itself into a knot that’s still there on the other end of the wormhole.

He’d respected Colonel O’Neill. He always respects the uniform and he figures the man deserves the rank unless he hears otherwise, and he never has. Okay, so, big deal.  Another thing that lieutenants have to learn to shrug off is how their superior officers choose to run their units. Maybe O’Neill has to keep Jackson sweet to keep SG-1 functional. So maybe Jackson didn’t get the bawling out he should’ve. McMahon could let that go.

But for O’Neill to be that friendly so soon after what had happened….

_Genuinely_ friendly, and carefree on top of it, as far as McMahon can tell. He can’t respect that. If O’Neill wasn’t showing displeasure it’s because he never felt any, and a _good_ officer should have, would have. 

Doctor Jackson was completely out of line The colonel’d let himself be charmed by Jackson, or something. McMahon finds the thought sickening, considering what Jackson is.

He’s thoroughly disillusioned with the colonel and just bitter enough over the next few days to fantasize a little about O’Neill having it brought to his attention that Jackson’s queer as a three dollar bill. And just vindictive enough to smile at the thought of the colonel’s disgust.

Those feelings wear off eventually, though, and McMahon goes back to shrugging it off and doing the job he loves.

A month later, he moves into a new apartment, on the third floor of the building that stands directly across the street from Doctor Jackson’s.

It takes him a week and a half to realize it.

~~~~

Jack parks four blocks away and approaches from the west this time. He’s always careful not to fall into a pattern. They’re safe enough visiting each other’s homes, a helluva lot safer than they’d be messing around with motel rooms. It’s even safe enough having Daniel stay at his house, since he has the guest room, but it wouldn’t be smart to do it too often.

Not that any of what they’re doing is what you could call ‘smart’. Love makes a guy do crazy things. Throw in some major lust on top of that and it makes two guys do crazy things too often. But being with Daniel is worth the risk. It’s worth anything.

It’s after midnight. Jack lets himself into Daniel’s apartment with his duplicate key. He varies that, too. Sometimes he rings the doorbell, sometimes he knocks. Tonight it’s late and the hallway’s deserted, so it’s the key. As he locks the door behind him, he hears the shower running.

That’s an invitation he can’t refuse, and he toes off his shoes as he pulls his shirt over his head. He’s working on the buttons of his jeans as he walks quickly toward the bathroom. Daniel, naked and wet, is one of his favorite things.

A few seconds later, pulling back the shower curtain after leaving his jeans, underwear and socks in a pile on the floor, Jack amends that thought.

Daniel, naked and wet and languidly soaping his dick with long, smooth strokes, fist over fist, is, at least at that moment, Jack’s favorite thing in the world _ever_.

~~~~

McMahon can’t stop thinking about what might go on in Jackson’s apartment. Does Jackson take his lovers there? Does he pick men up in those gay bars everybody says there are downtown and take them there and let them fuck him? Right there across the street? He even dreams about what’s happening there one night, and that’s a dream that he’ll never be able to get out of his head, dirty and perverted.

He looks at Jackson’s building every day and wonders.  Finally one day, when he knows Jackson is off-world, McMahon crosses the street and goes into the building. He finds himself in a small lobby, lined with mailboxes. Jackson is 210. He tries the inner door, half-expecting it to be locked, although he hasn’t spotted an intercom. His damp palm slips on the door handle and his heart thuds as the door swings open.

The carpet in the hallway is an ugly shade of green. Two elevators are on his right, and a stairway is on his left. He takes the stairs, automatically counting them in his head like he’s done since childhood. He hesitates for a second, his hand on the fire door, and then pulls it open with a jerky motion. He steps into the second floor hallway, notes that the carpet is now an ugly shade of brown, and looks at the first door on his right, then his left.

210.

McMahon turns on his heel and pushes through the fire door and races down the stairs as though he’s being chased. He manages to calm himself and walk across the street sedately enough. He lets himself into his building and nods at a neighbor who passes him on the stairway, unlocks his front door with a shaking hand. Inside, he throws the deadbolt and leans against the door for a minute. His keys drop from his hand to the floor.

Jackson’s apartment faces the street. Same as his.

He walks slowly to the window and looks down. The building entrance is slightly to his right. He lifts his gaze to the second floor. That one is the stairwell window. That would presumably be Jackson’s living room, almost directly across from him.

Is the other window the bedroom?

~~~~

It’s a Saturday morning, and Jack parks in a visitor space alongside Daniel’s building and goes in the front door. He’s carrying a sack full of coffee and doughnuts, and he rings Daniel’s bell three times. If anybody’s looking, this is exactly how he wants to be seen.

“You said ten o’clock!” Daniel complains loudly as he opens the door in bathrobe and slippers.

“The doughnuts refused to wait that long,” Jack answers.

But the doughnuts are going to wait a while longer, because Daniel does no more than peek at them and say, “Dibs on the sprinkles,” before he takes Jack by the hand and leads him to the bedroom. Naturally, his other hand holds one of the containers of coffee and he sips from it while he watches Jack undressing, and only reluctantly puts it down when Jack reaches for the belt of the bathrobe.

Caffeine may be Daniel’s number one priority, but at least Jack comes before food. In this case he comes inside Daniel before food.

And _after_ the food, Daniel puts the bathrobe back on, and Jack eases down to his knees and sticks his head up underneath the hem and nuzzles there in the warm darkness until Daniel’s fully hard.

Daniel fucks him over the kitchen table with sugar-fueled energy that leaves Jack limp.

~~~~

McMahon calls the rental office of Jackson’s building, hoping to get in to look at an empty apartment, hoping to learn about the apartment layouts. There’s a dull ache of disappointment low in his belly when he learns there’s nothing available at the moment.

He watches Jackson’s windows when he can, trying to make sense of the patterns of light and darkness. But SGC personnel don’t always keep to schedules that make sense, and Jackson’s a reputed night owl. If there’s a light on at 3 a.m. in what McMahon’s assuming is the bedroom, that doesn’t prove whether or not it’s actually the bedroom.

McMahon comes home at four o’clock one morning, after an off-world mission. He looks up at Jackson’s windows before he goes inside. All is dark. In his apartment, McMahon strips off his clothing, gets into a clean pair of briefs, brushes his teeth. He’s weary enough to fall straight into bed, but as usual he can’t resist the pull of one last look.

He gets to the window just in time to see a figure entering Jackson’s building, but he can’t make much out in the dim light and there’s no time to fumble for the binoculars. A minute later Jackson’s living room light comes on.

Jackson hasn’t been offworld. He’s not coming from the Mountain. SG-1’s on a three day stand-down. Was it Jackson he’d seen? Or was Jackson welcoming someone now. McMahon shudders at the thought of what that ‘welcome’ might be. The living room light goes off and the bedroom light goes on, and off again within thirty seconds.

McMahon would give a lot to know if that was really Jackson coming home or not. He can guess at what he would’ve been doing that would keep him out until this hour. Nasty things.

He goes into his bedroom and crawls into bed, but his mind is racing and he can’t fall asleep. Right now, right this minute, if that hadn’t been Jackson going in, right now he could be on his knees sucking some guy’s cock. Or maybe getting his cock sucked too, at the same time. McMahon’s toes curl and he rolls over, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to block out the filthy images in his head.

He hates that he can’t get stop thinking about Jackson. He wishes he’d never heard of the man, never moved here. He wishes for a miracle, for Jackson to just _go away_.

Suddenly his eyes fly open. He swallows. He’ll do it. He’s been thinking about it often enough lately. Tomorrow he’ll do it. Brett will help him; Brett will know exactly what to do, what’s needed.

He relaxes. Even smiles a little, blinking sleepily.

After all, what’s the point of having a brother-in-law who’s a private investigator if you can’t take advantage of it?

“You realize the building must have another exit,” Brett says, the next evening, and McMahon’s heart sinks a little. “Fire laws, for one thing. I’ll go over and check things out.”

He’s gone for over ten minutes, and McMahon spends that time staring at the surveillance camera on its tripod in front of his window, wondering if it’s going to be utterly useless and kicking himself for being stupid. The sound of the intercom buzzing shakes him out of it, and he goes over and pushes the button to let Brett back in the building.

He’s waiting in his open doorway when Brett appears at the top of the stairs.

“It’s not too bad,” Brett says, a little breathless. Kathy feeds him too well, and he’s a good twenty pounds heavier than he was the day McMahon stood up beside him in the front of the church and witnessed Brett’s marriage to his big sister . Brett jokes that he’d never make it as a TV P.I. these days, and that it’s a good thing real-life P.I. work is almost entirely done sitting on your ass.

McMahon shuts the door behind them and follows Brett over to the window.

“There’s visitor parking around the side of the building, and a gated lot for residents at the back. Takes a key card to drive back there, but there’s accessibility by sidewalk, so I checked it out. The back door takes a key card, too.” Brett’s fiddling around with the tripod, finding the best angle for the camera.

“Why doesn’t the front door?”

Brett shrugs. “They’ve got a security camera posted in the lobby, and outdoor lights at night. Which will help us out.” He grins over his shoulder at McMahon.

“Security camera?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I was recorded going into the building.” McMahon swallows.

Brett looks at him again. “Probably already recorded over. And unless this Jackson character’s got paranoia coming out his ying-yang, it’s not like he’s ever gonna look at the footage.”

A swell of relief rises. “He probably wouldn’t even recognize me,” McMahon says, trying to sound cheerful. “I’m too far down the food chain to be memorable.”

Brett snickers. “Just as well. Last thing you want is a guy like that getting too interested, you know what I mean?”  

McMahon snorts. He and Brett don’t agree on everything, but Brett doesn’t approve of gays any more than he does. That, plus a ‘family discount’, means that McMahon’s getting the use of the surveillance camera for nothing. “It just sits around gathering dust otherwise,” Brett told him. “You might as well use it until I need it again.” 

And McMahon’s window’s in the perfect position, apparently. The camera can be angled high and wide enough to cover the entrance of the building and Jackson’s windows, too. Brett hooks the camera’s feed up to McMahon’s PC and uses a sample file to show him how to access what the camera will download in pre-set blocks of time, how to fast-forward and zoom, how to use the timestamp to label the files and how to isolate, save and burn anything of relevance.

McMahon’s spine is tingling as he stares at the live feed of Jackson’s building on his computer’s monitor.

~~~~

It starts out as a mission of mercy, with Jack bringing orange juice and chicken noodle soup to Daniel, who spent most of the previous night puking according to his first phone call to Janet, and most of the subsequent day sleeping, according to his second phone call, to Jack. They haven’t been off-world in over a week, or Janet would’ve undoubtedly yanked all of SG-1 into quarantine. “There’s a bug going around the Springs,” she tells Jack. “He’ll be weak, but much better tomorrow, and he can come back to work the next day if he feels up to it.”

Daniel makes it through half a bowl of soup and nearly a glass of OJ before he gives up the fight to stay awake. Jack crawls into bed with him. “You’ll get sick,” Daniel protests insincerely. Jack just holds him tighter.

Daniel’s asleep within seconds, more quickly and deeply asleep than Jack ever remembers seeing him, a feverishly warm and heavy weight in the cradle of Jack’s arms. When Jack falls asleep an hour later, lulled and soothed by Daniel’s slow breathing, he drifts for a while and then dreams of the cabin in Minnesota… a roaring fire, snow falling, fir branches sagging under their white blanket, pot roast aromas drifting from the kitchen, Daniel’s stocking feet rubbing against Jack’s bare legs, Daniel moving down Jack’s body, under the old plaid blanket, mouth wet and so, so warm, Jack growing pleasantly but not urgently hard, the fire blazing, painting shadows on the ceiling, Daniel’s hands painting loving unspoken words on Jack’s skin….

And Jack wakes to find Daniel sucking him with intent focus. Daniel’s skin is damp and relatively cool under Jack’s questing, questioning hand. 

“I guess you’re feeling better?”

The swirl of Daniel’s tongue and the gentle squeeze of the hand cupping his balls is Jack’s only answer, but it’s an acceptable one, he supposes.

Janet might disagree. Fortunately she’s not here.

~~~~

Going through the recordings is wearying. McMahon gets a little thrill, though, the handful of times he spots Jackson coming or going. Obviously Jackson uses the back entrance most of the time, but sometimes maybe he’s just catching some air, or he’s heading over to the Quik-Mart four blocks away, based on the bags in his hand when he comes back.

Wearying and time-consuming, yes. But McMahon _knows_ now. That time he saw someone enter the building, saw Jackson’s light come on seconds later. 4 a.m. That wasn’t Jackson catching some air at that hour. The Quik-Mart closes at midnight. And it wasn’t Jackson parking in the visitor’s lot and coming in the front door because it was closer, either, because the figure had approached from the wrong direction for it to be that.

The unknown man would come back. Or other men would come.

Wearying and time-consuming, but it’ll be worth it. McMahon’s a man with a mission now. He wants Jackson off SG-1. Let him keep his job at the SGC. Jackson’s an asset in a lot of ways which McMahon acknowledges readily. He isn’t being vindictive, here. They had that one run-in, sure, months ago, but he’s moved on. Okay, maybe there’s some residual anger, which he’s a little ashamed of, but he holds to the creed of _hate the sin, not the sinner_ , and that has to go for how Jackson treated him as well as what Jackson is.

McMahon was lucky enough to have been raised properly, but Jackson was an orphan or something. He probably never had anyone to teach him right from wrong. He just gave in to his twisted carnal desires and started doing disgusting things, and now he’s deep in the mud pit. Well, McMahon’s not here to save him, but if being discovered and exposed happens to set Jackson’s feet on a better road, McMahon will have done a doubly good thing. But getting him off SG-1 is the main thing, because SG-1 represents America and the Air Force and Earth, and should be made up of only the finest.

Like Major Carter, who’s bright and tough and upright. Like Teal’c, even, who’s burned his bridges and chosen the side of the angels, bringing his invaluable knowledge of the Goa’uld with him.

Like Colonel O’Neill, whose biggest flaw might be his liking of Jackson. Otherwise he’s served his country with honor, and isn’t the type to let aliens push him around by being all wishy-washy and overly diplomatic. He’s forthright. It works. He’s a great representative of the strong and stubborn American military.

McMahon goes on thinking that until the day he identifies Colonel O’Neill going into Doctor Jackson’s building, timestamp 2057, and not coming out until timestamp 0417 the next morning.

~~~~

Tonight Daniel gets silly after a couple of beers. Wrestling ensues. Daniel’s got the weight on him, and is just about as strong these days, but Jack still has a few moves he hasn’t passed along just yet. When Daniel winds up on his stomach with Jack’s forearm pressed against his throat and Jack’s hard-on pressed against his ass, the laughing threats end abruptly.

“I want to do it again naked,” Daniel says, and there’s a note in his voice that Jack can’t say he’s ever heard before.

Jack spreads a sheet on his bedroom floor to prevent carpet burn and they strip rapidly, Daniel watching him with hungry eyes.

Jack ducks down and grabs Daniel’s ankle, yanks. Daniel goes down hard. Jack pounces. Daniel counters. They grapple until their skin is slick with each other’s sweat. Daniel battles with silent, panting ferocity. Salt stings Jack’s eyes. He’s trying not to leave any marks, but Daniel isn’t being quite so careful. Jack will have two or three bruises.

He considers that it might be deliberate and something flares inside him. It’s time to get Daniel down on his belly and _take_ him. Fuck him until he surrenders.

He coils his muscles and makes his move.

~~~~

McMahon burns inside. He burns when he’s alone in his bed, he burns when he sees one of them at the SGC, he burns almost unbearably if he sees them together.

Wicked thoughts and disgusting images fill his head, making it hard to sleep, hard to work, hard to concentrate on anything else. He asks for a week of downtime, but he knows he won’t use it to rest. It’s just safer for everyone if he’s not on the job right now.

He has a different job he needs to do.

He’s parked down the block from O’Neill’s house. Jackson’s car sits openly in O’Neill’s driveway. Four nights in a row McMahon’s sat here, letting the camera at home surveil Jackson’s apartment while he stands watch over the house.

Tonight Jackson finally showed up.

McMahon doesn’t have a fancy, timestamping camera that will take surreptitious pictures in the dark, so he noted Jackson’s time of arrival neatly in a small notebook. He didn’t ask Brett if he had a camera like that that he could borrow. He doesn’t want to talk about this, with anyone. This secret that he’s holding fills him with an exciting sense of righteous power.

He hasn’t wanted to share that feeling with anyone.

Not until the time was right.

~~~~

 “Good morning, Sergeant,” Jack says as he signs in.

“Good morning, sir. You’re asked to report at once to General Hammond’s office.”

“Oh?” Jack puts down the pen and looks up. “Thank you.”

‘At once’ means **at once** , so Jack skips the locker room and reports in his civvies. Both office doors are closed, so Jack goes to the window off the briefing room and, seeing Hammond alone and not on the phone, raises his hand to tap gently on the glass. But Hammond sees him and beckons him in. Jack opens the office door and shuts it behind him. “Good morning, sir. You wanted to see me?”

“Take a seat, Colonel.”

Jack sits. That look, that tone. This is not good. Not good at all.

It’s worse than he thought, he discovers when he examines the photographs that Hammond slides across the desk to him. Grainy but easily recognizable pictures of him entering and leaving Daniel’s building. “That’s Daniel’s place,” he says neutrally.

“I’m well aware of that, Colonel.”

Jack hears the anger but meets Hammond’s gaze calmly. “What’s it all about, sir?” He pushes one of the photos away a couple of inches with a disdainful finger. “Who’s being watched? Daniel, or me?” He lets a bit of anger creep into his own voice.

Hammond silently slides a folder over to him. Jack’s only slightly relieved by the thinness of it. He opens it to find, on top, normal zoom prints of the pictures he’s just been looking at. These prints have timestamps in the corner. The timestamps are damning, in and of themselves, but not proof of what they’re indicating. He raises his eyebrows and turns them over.

Another photograph of him about to enter Daniel’s building. There’s no second picture with this one. From the datestamp, he knew there wouldn’t be. He went out the back door that night, about three hours later, and enjoyed the pleasant ache he felt as he walked the half-mile to his truck. He decides not to make a show of looking for a second picture, and turns it over without any reaction.

Underneath are four timestamped photos of a window. At 1122 there’s light behind the blinds. At 1123 there’s darkness. At 0441 there’s darkness, and at 0442 there’s a light.

Hammond folds his hands together on top of his desk.

Jack turns to the final item in the folder, a copy of a notebook page with handwritten words and numbers under dates that match the window photos .  _1146 Doctor Jackson’s vehicle pulls into O’Neill’s driveway. Jackson enters the residence. 0420 Doctor Jackson exits the residence and drives away._

0420. Just over four hours ago. Jack closes the folder with an involuntary twitch of his lips.

“I have been placed in an extremely distasteful position, Colonel. I am _required_ to act on this information.”

“What exactly is this ‘information’ supposed to be proving, sir?” Jack looks Hammond square in the eye.

Hammond grimaces. “At the very least, it proves that you spend your time unwisely, Colonel.”

Jack shrugs, not too elaborately. “It proves that Daniel and I are both night owls on occasion, sir.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Hammond snaps at him. “Keep silent. You’ll be better off.”

“Sir,” Jack acknowledges, sitting up a little straighter, heart beating a little faster.

Hammond taps the folder. “I don’t know who else might have this information. I’ve been told that it has only been brought to me, but I cannot rely on that. I cannot silence the man who brought this to me. I cannot control his future actions.”

“May I ask who this man is, General?”

“Who he is, is the least of your worries, Colonel. I am preparing a report, which I will submit to my superiors along with this documentation. What happens after that will be up to them.”

Jack’s stomach twists. “I understand, sir.”

“ _Do_ you? Do you understand the possible consequences? Do you understand how furious I am that I’ve been forced to take these actions?”

Jack swallows. “Yes, sir. I deeply regret that.”

“So do I.” Hammond leans back in his chair and looks up at the ceiling for a moment.

Jack closes his eyes briefly and hopes he can keep down the two cups of coffee that he’s substituted for breakfast.

“SG-1 is on stand-down. You are on leave, as of now. I don’t want you anywhere near this base until I send for you.”

Jack nods jerkily. “Sir.”

“You can explain the situation to your team however you see fit. If there’s an investigation they’ll learn the truth soon enough. Dismissed, Colonel.”

Jack stands up, feeling stiff and old. “Thank you, sir,” he says, because that’s what you _say_ , and he leaves the room, closing the door behind him with a dull click.

Five minutes later he’s standing in Daniel’s office doorway. “I need to use your computer for a minute,” he says.

Daniel frowns up at him. “Sure.”

Jack slides a chair into place and sits down. He calls up a blank Word document.

“What’s going on?”

“We can’t talk here. Read this and delete it.” Jack types as quickly as he can, but nerves are making his fingers clumsy. He’s aware of Daniel, motionless, frozen, behind him. He does a quick proofread and lets the typos stand. “Delete it right away,” he emphasizes, rising.

It’d be auto-saved after five minutes. Daniel won’t let that happen.

Jack leaves without a backward glance.

Daniel calls him that night.

There hadn’t been any phone records in the file, so Jack told him in his note that it was all right to call. They’re always circumspect on the phone anyway.  “Did Hammond send for you?” he asks.

“No. I gather he spent most of the day in his office with the doors shut.”

“You should be okay, then.” Hopefully.

“Yeah, it’s not me I’m worried about.”

“Dammit, Daniel.”

“Anyway.”

“You tell them?”

They’ve talked about it. If the shit ever looked like hitting the fan, they didn’t want their teammates hearing about the two of them from anyone else. Jack’s note also said: _tell them unless you think it should come from me_.

“I told them there was possibly going to be an investigation, and that they’d probably be questioned. I didn’t need to fill in too many blanks.”

“No.” No, Carter could read between the lines and undoubtedly knew the regulations backwards and forwards. And Teal’c might never completely understand the Tau’ri, but he knew a helluva lot about human relations. He’d know exactly what Daniel wasn’t telling them.

“Do we know who’s behind this?” Daniel asks.

“I don’t think it’s any of our old friends.” Like the NID. “Just one man as far as I know.” And maybe Hammond was making that crystal clear for a reason, maybe not.

“Across the street.”

Daniel sounds shocked. He loves his neighborhood. Jack grips his phone tighter. “Just watch your step.”

There’s a silent moment.

“How’d they take it?” Jack asks finally.

“Guess you noticed me changing the subject, huh?”

“That well, eh?”

“Give it some time.”

Jack closes his eyes. “Yeah. Well, tell them I’m here if either of them wants to talk. Or, you know, yell.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that, assuming they’re still speaking to me tomorrow.”

“ _That_ bad? Seriously?”

“No. No. Not that bad.”

Meaning, bad enough.

“Try to get some sleep.”

“You, too, Jack.”

“Night.”

They hang up, and Jack is alone again. And more scared than he wants to admit.

~~~~ 

One more day. One more night. One more brief check-in from Daniel. No gossip, no strange looks in the hallways. A general unbending and invitation from Teal’c to join him in kel’no’reem that Daniel had been too wound up to accept, and a promise to have lunch tomorrow from Sam, whose awkward smile hadn’t come anywhere near her eyes.

“I think we might have trouble, there.”

“Hey, if that’s our biggest problem I’ll be happy.”

Daniel grunts in acknowledgment.

“So, you did eat lunch, though? You’re eating, you’re sleeping?” They’ve always been there for each other in times of stress. Jack aches to be with him now.

“You’re drinking?”

Jack looks at his fourth glass of Scotch. “Who, me?”

“Take it easy,” Daniel says without a hint of admonishment, with so much love in his voice that Jack doubles forward in pain.

“Okay, Mom,” he manages to choke out before hanging up.

The next time the phone rings it’s twelve hours later, and it’s General Hammond ordering him to report for duty.

Jack drives to the Mountain and walks in. The same sergeant from two days ago is on duty. Jack’s hand shakes a little as he signs in. He heads for the locker room and changes out of his civvies. He makes a stop at his office. His inbox is practically empty. He’s ambivalent about that, because he knows that whoever kept it cleaned out wasn’t doing it as a favor to him, but because he might not be coming back and it had to be done.

He sits down and fires up the computer. Finds out that his login still works. Intellectually, he knew it would, but he’d been bracing himself just the same. The top email is from Hammond’s office, telling him that he has an appointment to see the general at 1100 hours. Fifteen minutes from now. Jack sends an acknowledgment.

The second email is from Carter, requesting an appointment to speak to him at his earliest convenience. Jack frowns and scratches his cheek, then fires off a quick response without trying to over think it, telling her that he’ll be in a meeting from 1100 to ????, and that he’ll let her know ASAP when he’s available.

The next three emails are typical SGC business, and the next is from Daniel. It’s just a ‘hey, welcome back’. Jack clicks on it to respond, but words literally fail him, and the clock is ticking while he sits and stares blankly at his monitor. In the end, the email goes unanswered as Jack departs for his meeting.

Today Hammond’s door is open, and Jack knocks on it as he walks into the room, then shuts it before walking over to the desk.

He isn’t invited to sit. Jack stands straight and tall. “Good morning, sir.”

Hammond nods curtly. “Colonel.”

Jack waits, eyes fixed on Hammond’s left ear.

“My superiors have examined the documents submitted to them and have thoroughly discussed my report with me. It has been determined that there is not enough evidence on which to proceed in this matter.”

Jack’s mouth is dry as the Sahara.

“You once voiced the opinion that saving the planet should never get old. I trust this will satisfy you that that is the case.” Hammond’s voice is practically dripping ice.

“Sir,” Jack agrees docilely.

“Personally, I cannot condone such blatant disregard for the regulations and for the oaths that you have sworn.” Jack detects barely an iota of warming as Hammond continues, “Professionally, I believe that you perform a vital function in your role here. Both you and Doctor Jackson are what I consider to be very nearly irreplaceable. For that reason I am relieved that you are to remain and continue in your service to your country and your world.” Hammond clears his throat. “What I think privately is no one’s business.”

“Sir,” Jack ventures, “I’m certain your report was a key factor in this decision. I want to say that I appreciate that.”

Hammond gives him a narrow-eyed stare. “Well-phrased, Colonel. It would have been inappropriate for you to thank me, since I didn’t do it for you.”

“No, sir,” Jack says faintly.

“And just to be perfectly clear: no action is to be taken against you _in this instance_ , based on the current set of circumstances and the evidence at hand. No investigation is being pursued. The file has been sealed. However, this does not constitute _carte blanche_ approval of illegal activities. This does not mean that you might anticipate leniency in any future proceedings. You are skating on extremely thin ice, Colonel.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Good.” Hammond frowns. “Unfortunately, someone had to come out the loser in this situation.”

“Sir?” He certainly can’t mean Daniel, ‘very nearly irreplaceable’ Daniel….

“Lieutenant Stuart McMahon.”

“SG-12,” Jack says automatically. “You mean he’s the one…?”

“He lives, or rather _lived_ across the street from Doctor Jackson.”

“Lived?” Jack asks, startled for a moment.

“His apartment is being packed for him and he has been confined to base, pending reassignment to another facility. I have had the unenviable task of explaining to him that it is not a punishment, but an expediency, that his work here has been exemplary. And of informing him that no action is being taken against you or Doctor Jackson, and of instructing him as to the behavior the Air Force is expecting of him going forward.” Hammond surveys Jack coolly. “Considering the Lieutenant’s high regard for the letter of the law, I’m confident we can count on him to drop this matter permanently and remain silent about these events, as he has been ordered to do so.”

Jack can’t think of anything to say to that that would be useful. “Why the hell did he do it in the first place?”

“He didn’t think Doctor Jackson belonged on SG-1 due to his perceiving Doctor Jackson as being gay. When Lieutenant McMahon moved into the building across the street -- by pure coincidence, by the way -- he began surveillance with the aid of equipment he borrowed from his brother-in-law, a private investigator.”

“He just… decided to go after Daniel.” There had to be more to it than that, didn’t there?

Hammond nods. “To bring about his removal from SG-1 by gathering evidence of his unsuitability. I don’t think he regarded you as a bonus, but clearly you had to go, too, once you had been identified.”

Jack chews on that for a minute. “Request permission to speak to McMahon, sir.”

“Permission denied.”

“With all due respect, sir, I’d like the opportunity to allow myself to be as convinced as you are that he’s going to drop this.”

“He’s given me his word.”

“I don’t know what _his_ word is worth, General, only yours. And you say he has a high regard for the letter of the law, but apparently he picks and chooses which parts of the law he wants to hold in that high regard. ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ being the perfect example.”

“I see your point,” Hammond acknowledges after a second. “And I am willing to ask him if he wishes to speak with you. His answer will be final.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“There’s one further item of unpleasantness. Major Carter has come to me expressing her desire to transfer to another unit if you were to remain as the leader of SG-1.”

It’s a blow. Daniel had warned of trouble; Carter’s email hadn’t boded well. The words still come as a shock. “God,” comes out of Jack’s mouth before he can stop himself.

“I told her she would have to go through normal channels in that eventuality.”

Jack nods. “She’s emailed me requesting a meeting.”

“Deal with it, Colonel. I’m sure she’s on _your_ list of irreplaceable personnel. Dismissed.”

~~~~

Jack returns to his office and fires off an email to Carter, advising her that he’ll be available in an hour’s time. He might as well deal with something that will probably be a little less difficult first, since it needs to be done at some point.

He goes in search of Teal’c, and finds him in his quarters.

Teal’c inclines his head and says, “It is good to have you back, O’Neill.”

“Thank you, Teal’c. That’s very good to hear. Got a minute to talk?”

Teal’c’s eyebrow goes up. “I did not think we would be discussing what has happened.”

“Nooo. We’re not, not exactly.”

“It is not allowed, as I understand it.”

“Pretty much, yeah. But… I think we need to talk about how you’re feeling about it all.”

“Why would my feelings on the matter be of any importance? It is surely between you and Daniel Jackson.”

“No, no. Not….” Jack tries to start over. “I want to hear from you if you have any concerns about the way I lead the team. The team dynamics. In general. Good, bad?”

“You would alter the way you lead us were I to express concerns?”

Jack thinks about that for a second or two. “Probably not.”

“Then it is as well that I have no such concerns, is it not?” Teal’c has that very slight curve to his lips that means he’s cracking up inside.

Sometimes he makes Jack feel like a little boy. “So you’re comfortable with the way things are?”

“Things are as they have been for some time, is this not correct?”

“Yeah.”

“I am comfortable.” And there’s the inclination of the head again. The royal seal of approval.

“Good.” Jack clasps Teal’c shoulder and comes closer to a genuine smile than he has in days. “Good. Just let me know if that ever changes.”

“I shall do so immediately.”

Ah, there’s nothing like the twinkle in a Jaffa’s eyes when he’s gently mocking you. The memory of it warms and bolsters Jack as he returns to his office, and to the stack of papers that have magically, marvelously appeared in his inbox.

They warm him, too, today. And distract him enough that Carter’s knock on the door actually surprises him. “Carter. Come on in.” He shuffles papers aside hastily as she closes the door, sending his pen rolling across the desktop. Carter intercepts it and hands it back to him. “Thank you,” he says with awkward formality. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you, sir.” 

She’s feeling as awkward as he is. It inspires Jack to smile at her, and she smiles back. It’s a small, tense smile, but not an unfriendly one. He nods at her. “General Hammond tells me you’re thinking about a transfer.”

“Yes, sir. Actually, more than just thinking about it. It’s what I want.”

“Okay, well, obviously I’m very sorry to hear that.”

“I’m… yes. Me, too.”

“Well, let’s talk it over, shall we?”

Carter looks wary. “You’re not going to talk me out of it.”

“I can’t know that until I understand your reasons.”

Carter opens her mouth, shuts it again. Flushes. “I don’t want you to misunderstand.”

“So far that’s not a problem,” Jack answers. At her confused look he explains, “I don’t even pretend to understand.”

She sighs.

“Will you explain to me?” he asks gently.

Carter bites her lip. “It isn’t….” She breaks off and looks at him, brow furrowed. “There are things we’re not supposed to talk about.”

Jack waves a hand. “Euphemize. If that’s a real word. I’ll fill in the blanks.”

“Yes, sir.” Carter looks at the ceiling and scrunches up her nose. “It isn’t about me objecting to people finding happiness, you know, _together_.”

“Not?”

“No, sir. Not at all.”

“Okay,” Jack says, trying to sound business-like. “Is it about the regulations?”

“A little. I mean, I don’t think….”

“Go on,” he prompts.

“I don’t think anyone should be above the regulations.” She looks half-defiant, half-apologetic.

“Okay.” It’s about what he would expect to hear from her, after all. “So maybe you weren’t expecting me to come back.”

“I didn’t… I certainly didn’t want… Colonel, I’m really, really _glad_ that you’re here.” She leans forward to emphasize her sincerity.

As if there could ever be any doubt, when it’s written all over her face and shining from her eyes. “Thanks. Me, too.” The smiles they exchange are a little less awkward this time. “So what am I missing?”

Her smile fades and she blinks a few times. “It’s hard to put into words. I just feel… I don’t feel like… everything’s been….”

“Everything’s been what?”

“Nothing’s been what I thought it was. I thought we were a team.”

“We were. We _are_.”

“No, I mean, I thought that I _knew_ my team. That we all had each other’s backs.” Carter raises a hand in response to Jack’s look. “I know. You’re going to say that’s all true. But I just don’t _feel_ that way anymore.” She looks down at her lap. “I was deceived. I mean, I don’t mean that you _deceived_ me. I mean, you _did_ , but that’s not what bothers me. Not really. I _let_ myself be deceived.”

“I’m trying to follow you here.”

“I said it was hard to put into words.”

“And now you’ve proved it.” Jack grimaces. “Look, does all this somehow boil down to you not trusting yourself now, because you were maybe wrong about one thing, out of all the things you got _right_?”

“It’s not a small thing, sir!”

“So, I’m right?”

“I was wrong about something _fundamental_ about the team that I thought I knew backwards and forwards.”

“Yes. Well. One, you were meant to get it wrong.” Jack pauses to consider what he’s just said. “That is, if there really was something to get wrong, you would be intended to get it wrong. So, not a flaw in you, just… brilliance on somebody else’s part.”

Carter closes her eyes and shakes her head.

“Two, switching to a different team doesn’t strike me as being the magical solution to self-doubt. I think you’d be better off trying to work though your issues than trying to escape them.”

“I just don’t feel that I can properly function as a member of SG-1 under these circumstances.”

“What circumstances? Not one damn thing has changed about SG-1 except that you _maybe_ know even more about us than you did before.”

“I… I guess I just don’t have the faith I did before.”

“That’s a problem,” Jack agrees, heart sinking. “However, we all have faith in _you_. We all rely on you. You’re our fourth. We don’t want to replace you, as if that would even be possible. And _I_ certainly don’t want to even contemplate the paperwork involved.”

Carter sighs.

“Has talking helped any?”

She looks at him, surprised. “I… I do feel a little better. But I haven’t changed my mind, sir.”

“Okay, let’s try this. Give it a week. We’ll meet again and if you still feel the same way I won’t try to talk you out of it.”

Carter gives him a sidelong look. “Why do I have a hard time believing that?”

“Because you recognize how vital you are to my team?”

Carter flushes a bit. “You think you know what my answer is going to be, don’t you?”

“No, Major,” Jack answers gently. “I only know what I hope it’ll be.”

~~~~

McMahon doesn’t even know why he’d agreed to talk to O’Neill. It’s making him sick just looking at the man seated across the table from him. Nothing had gone the way it was supposed to. O’Neill was untouched, Jackson was untouched. And he was being sent away.

_Not a punishment_ , General Hammond said, and if he said it, it was the truth. But McMahon is still being silenced and exiled, because the rules don’t apply to some people, evidently.

People like O’Neill.

“I’ve been looking through your file,” O’Neill says. “You’ve done good work here. Your entire service history is exemplary, in fact.”

McMahon doesn’t say anything, because what’s he supposed to do? Thank him?

“I’m sorry that things have turned out this way. The SGC needs good men.”

And O’Neill needs bad men, who are good in bed. McMahon feels his face flush, and he looks away.

“I know it must be hard for you to understand why this is happening.”

Finally something he can respond to! “Yes, sir.”

“Yeah,” O’Neill says. “I’m having an equally hard time understanding why you did what you did.” There’s a hard look in his eyes, which had been neutral until now. McMahon’s spine stiffens. “Why launch an attack on Doctor Jackson? Gay or not, he’s not military. What’s it to you?”

“He doesn’t belong out there representing our world,” McMahon answers crisply.

“He’s been representing our world for a few years now, and doing a pretty nifty job of it. The _aliens_ aren’t complaining. Except for a few pissed-off Goa’ulds. Why’s it such a big deal to you?”

“It isn’t right.”

“‘It isn’t right’,” O’Neill repeats slowly. “And, of course, I don’t belong out there either, right?”

“I never said that, sir.” O’Neill’s different.

“So you’re fine with me continuing on SG-1?”

Fine? That would be stretching it. “Look, sir. People a lot higher up than me have decided that you still belong on SG-1 in spite of… whatever.” That came out a little bitter. “I’ve accepted that.”

“Really. Even though, if I’m actually gay, I’m breaking the rules, and yet, if Doctor Jackson were really gay, he wasn’t doing a thing wrong but you went after him anyway.” O’Neill’s leaning over the table.

McMahon’s not going to let himself be intimidated. “You hide it better, sir.”

“What?” O’Neill looks startled.

“People can’t tell, sir. With Doctor Jackson anyone can tell.”

“So your big plan,” O’Neill’s waving his hands around, “was to keep Daniel on this planet so that the aliens wouldn’t think that he was _gay_?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why would you _care_?” O’Neill shouts.

“Because they’ll think we’re _all_ that way!” McMahon shouts back.

O’Neill stares at him, mouth open, then gets out of his chair and walks to the other end of the room and back. McMahon sits waiting, with clenched fists. O’Neill is looking at him assessingly. “I think I’m starting to get it,” he says.

“Are you, sir?” McMahon doubts it.

“Who was it?” O’Neill asks. “Kids at school? Guys at the Academy? Mom and Dad? Maybe somebody at church, huh?”

A cold fist clenches at McMahon’s gut. “Sir?”

“Somebody, somewhere, sometime thought you were gay, am I right?”

“You’re wrong.”

O’Neill jabs a finger at him. “But you’re afraid it’ll happen. It’s one of your biggest fears. So big that you’ll go after someone else for no goddamn reason.”

“Shut up,” McMahon growls, and then freezes. He’s just told a colonel in the U.S. Air Force to shut up.

O’Neill seems to freeze for a second, too. Then he slowly sits back down in the chair across from McMahon. “I’m going to overlook that.”

“I apologize.”

O’Neill waves a hand. “It’s forgotten. Let’s get back to you.”

“There’s nothing to discuss, sir.” McMahon says it softly and clearly, trying to bank the anger that’s already threatening to rise again.

“Oh, I think there is.” O’Neill leans forward on his elbows and pins McMahon with his gaze. “How long have you been attracted to other men, son?”

“I’m not. I’m not!” He hears his voice rising.

“Were you attracted to Doctor Jackson? Is that why this all started?”

“What? No! God, no! He disgusts me.”

O’Neill gets a dangerous look on his face.

“No! I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean to say that. I only meant that the things he does are disgusting.”

“Yeah, that’s better.”

“‘Hate the sin, not the sinner’. I was raised right, sir. I really didn’t mean to say that, it just slipped out. I didn’t mean it.”

“Right.” O’Neill’s got that assessing look on his face again. “So these disgusting things that Doctor Jackson does.”

“Not him especially, sir. Gays.” McMahon feels like he’s digging himself in deeper and deeper, but his only hope now is to explain himself, to make it clear that O’Neill’s way off base.

“Yeah, things gay people do. So, what, like mow the grass? Make lasagna? Pay taxes?”

McMahon fights to stay calm. “I’m not stupid, sir. I know that gay people do all those things, just like regular people do.” O’Neill’s lips move, shaping a word. McMahon licks his own lips. “Like other people do.”

“Sure. So you mean the sex stuff.”

“Yes, sir. Sir, I don’t want to talk about this.”

O’Neill nods. “Sure. Sex is a private, personal thing. There’s no call to talk about it. Or speculate about other people’s sex lives. Or project your own fantasies onto….”

“No!” Shut up, shut up, shut up! Liar!

“No?”

“I would never want to do any of those things.” He’s growling again. He needs to calm down.

“Those sex things that we’re not discussing.”

“Yes,” McMahon hisses.

“Because they’re dirty and wrong.”

“Yes.”

“Like the Bible says.”

“Yes.” Right from wrong.

O’Neill stands and pushes his chair under the table. “Yes, well. The Bible also says not to eat cheeseburgers or masturbate. And I’m willing to bet you’ve done both.”

McMahon’s lips start to curl into a snarl, and he presses them together tightly.

O’Neill nods. “I’ve got a few parting thoughts for you, Lieutenant. First, actually read the Bible instead of believing everything you’re told. Second, think about talking to a counselor about these feelings you’ve been repressing. You’ll feel better.”

McMahon shakes his head. Liar. Liar.

“And third, like too many other people, you’ve forgotten what comes after ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.’”

_Don’t harass, don’t pursue_. McMahon blinks.

“If you think you’re being punished, that would be why.” O’Neill goes over and opens the door. “Good luck, Lieutenant.”

He’s gone.

And McMahon can hardly wait until it’s his turn to leave.

~~~~

A month later, Jack reflects that things could have gone much worse. Of course there’s still a lot of room for things to get better. He’s not giving up hope, though. Carter’s still wary, but not showing any real signs of going anywhere. Daniel will, Jack’s sure, eventually stop with the whole walking-on-eggshells routine.

Teal’c is a rock. They can all lean on him at the same time, which has been a godsend on more than one occasion.

Jack may have permanently lost some of General Hammond’s respect, but he’s never lost his trust. Hammond knows what he can expect from Jack in the field, and Jack takes new joy these days in meeting and surpassing those expectations. He misses the warmth that used to characterize most of their interactions, but at least the ice has thawed. Permanently, he hopes.

All things considered, he’s a lot better off than McMahon, who lost the job he loved and who will be fighting and denying who he is and what he wants, _needs_ , until the day he dies.

Jack made peace with himself a long time ago.

The setting sun is transforming the snowcaps of the Rockies into orange and raspberry sherbet before his appreciative eyes as Jack approaches Daniel’s new apartment from the east this time.


End file.
